Sense 8
by Creamed Cheese
Summary: 7 is a magical number. But there were 8. 8 splittings of the soul. 8 deaths to be relived.
1. Chapter 1

**Sense 8**

Taking some loosely and I mean loosely formed ideas from how horcruxes are made and interact blah blah and the fact that as much as I love David Tennent I hated him in harry potter as barty crouch jnr.

This takes off nearing the end of the graveyard from Goblet of Fire and I will warn you that I was slightly drunk while typing this and watching order of the phoenix which is my least favourite book and film.

-8-

Harry sighed. It was over. It wasn't dead. It lived. Cedric was dead. He hadn't lived. He was spread-eagled on the ground near the still glimmering cup twenty feet away. _The spare._

 _The spare._

Spare what? Harry's mind came up with fast and fleeting ideas that two wizards who were considered the enemy and taking their blood could have proven to be more powerful than just the one enemy. But those ideas soon fled.

Everything was over

The _spare_ was over.

Harry wondered how long until he was going to be over.

Tom Marvalo Riddle

I am Lord Voldemort

Harry remembered the ghostly form of the 16 year old wizard. But that form wasn't what stood in front of him now. It was something that could have been seen in a muggle horror film. Snake like eyes that shone red. Skin too smooth to even think of having a smattering of hair over it. But neither the new _thing_ nor Harry moved. The grave that was his temporary cell held him tight across his chest and hips, bruising in its intensity.

One thing Wormtail had done to high standards he supposed. Contain the prisoner and kill the _spare._

The gigantic snake slithered that little bit closer to Voldemort. Harry squinted, his glasses not helping his vision as he inspected the markings of the snake. He blinked. It couldn't be.

 _ **Been to Brazil yet?**_

The question seemed to come out of Harry's mouth with little thought to it. But it did get a reaction in the snake. She seemed to slow her slithering and turn her head in his direction, her forked tongue peeping out and tasting the air.

 _ **Saving Snakelet?**_

Harry huffed out a breath. But before he could reply to the constrictor, it was all over again.

New chap?,.;:~:;.,

The surface of the cauldron began to bubble and send out sparks. The steam on top the cauldron soon grew and it became a mist that spread over the whole graveyard.

Harry could swear he could feel a faint voice calling for someone, something to _hurry_. The cauldron quickly changed to less bubbling and more spark giving. Sparks seemed to fly out every other second, some managing to go a fair way before they died out.

The bundle Wormtail had dropped in the cauldron. Harry knew what it could be, knew what it was. Knew who it was.

 _Kill the spare._

If he wasn't a spare then what was Harry?

A gift?

He just hoped that he didn't bleed to death before he could finalise his fears of what was going to emerge from that cauldron. There was no if about it.

But the cut on his right forearm was deeper than it needed to be surely? From what he could tell from his gravestone prison was that only a few drops of his blood had been added to the cauldron. _The spare_ could have doubled the number of drops _forcefully_ taken.

As the potion turned red.

Then the _thing_ that had ordered the death of _the spare_ heaved in a huge breath.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

 _Alive._

-8-

The red eyes latched onto Harry in his gravestone prison before turning downwards and looking at his new, alien body.

Maybe babies were born with no hair. Harry mused. Before faint images of being at the Burrow and the numerous pictures of the Weasleys in embarrassing growing phases came to mind. _They all had hair_.

So Lord Voldemort wasn't a new born.

He was born but not new.

His hairless body, his slitted eyes were not the only alien thing about him. His ears were pressed back against his skull, his nose missing its septum which caused the nostrils to flatten to the face.

Then he blinked, his eyelids appearing and disappearing horizontally instead of vertically.

 _It's over. Kill the spare._

Kill me.

Oh please kill me. Harry though over and over as he watched Voldemort gaze at his long pale fingers.

Then those eyes, slitted demon eyes met his.

 _The spare! Kill the spare!_

But the spare was dead. Harry could see Cedric laying where he had died.

The chant of the spare seemed to fade as the red eyes seemed to grow within the slits.

Harry blinked. He felt himself, or some part somewhere within himself recognise something, somewhere within those red eyes.

 _Cruicio_

Trapped within his gravestone prison, Harry wasn't sure whether to be grateful or curse it. As the pain of white hot knives seemed to pierce his skin over and over. He wasn't sure if this was real. Had he died? He struggled to thrash his limbs but then felt blessed that they were tied down and kept at bay. He longed to arch his back, to escape the pain but could move no more than a fly caught within the web of a spider.

 _Kill the spare_.

It stopped.

Harry blinked. He seemed to blink an awful lot all of a sudden or was he just more aware of it than normal?

 _The spare._

The thought rang through his mind as he looked over to Cedric to check he was still there.

The arms that were trapped tight around his shoulders and his hips disappeared.

Slumping to the ground and pushing himself up so he rested on his knees, Harry once again met those slitted red eyes.

 _It's over._

 _Kill the spare._

 _Kill the spare._

 _Find the boy._

 _But which one?_

 _She has been faithful. She must be rewarded._

 _Kill the spare._

 _Half-blood. Impossible. No one must ever know._

 _Avada Kedavra!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Sense 8**

 _Avada Kedavra!_

-8-

There was no way of knowing of where or who the killing curse came from.

That was how it looked to outsiders.

But not all involved are outsiders.

There are insiders.

Two.

Or is that ten?

Harry knew _kill the spare_ that he could never become a murderer. Could never take the life of another.

He had taught himself better.

Voldemort.

 _Kill the spare_.

A cough made its way out of a pale throat of a young body. The robes that draped over the body were torn, blood seeping through.

But only the living can bleed.

Green eyes snapped open before being forcefully shut.

 _Kill the spare._

 _I killed Sirius Black._

 _Weasley is our king._

 _Tonks is pregnant._

 _Serverus, please._

 _You've got to mean it._

 _So weak._

 _I shall be gone._

 _Always._

 _Old man._

 _Stand aside._

 _So weak._

 _Look at me._

 _Look at us._

 _You're a fool._

 _You will lose. Everything._

 _Kill the spare._

 _Take Weasley with you._

 _Enjoy it._

 _Something worth fighting for._

-8-

 _ **Snakelet?**_ A non-hiss came next. _**If you feel remorse in your head that is the weakness.**_

Remorse?

Weakness?

Harry wanted to laugh. Whose idea had it been to both take the cup at the same time? A Hogwarts victory _he_ had said. But what did that matter when one half of the team lay dead and the other so close to following _the spare_ into its oblivion.

The thought of the death of Cedric left him breathless. Harry knew he had to concentrate on Voldemort and forced his eyes to once again land on the alien hairless monster in front of him.

A monster that was displaying the same posture of hum. Half bent over, hands on knees and a look of desperation about him.

 _ **More Snakelet. Feel it over and there then shall be 3/8 of the puzzle soon to be joined by mine.**_

Why in the world he was listening and taking in the advice of a snake who had been with Voldemort for a months was beyond Harry but he figured that he was going to die anyway so might as well do something.

Something to tell those wherever he was going.

As soon as the first thread of though entered his mind about Cedric, the air turned stale and a light brighter than looking directly at the sun took over Harry's vision.

-8-

Gasping like only he had ever seen on the TV, Harry whole body gagged on thin air. What he had seen…What he had done…What he had hidden?

It all came back to him.

But it wasn't _him_ him was it?

It was Harry.

No.

Not Harry.

His name was Tom.

But for now he played the part of a boy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sense 8**

 _It was Harry._

A diary.

A small youthful hand stabbed at the cover, causing blackish blood to seep out of it and over the stone floor.

No good.

Gone.

Mission over on this one.

No second life.

No _spare._

-8-

A ring.

Not far from here.

He concentrated on the thought of the ring, his death and the other deaths that had caused it.

It appeared as by magic.

A large man.

No such thing as magic.

No post on Sundays.

 _Kill the spare._

A deep breath.

A steadying breath.

 _The spare_ in his mind and the aura that seemed to be around the ring disappeared.

Gone.

No second life.

No _spare._

-8-

A locket.

One that he had himself or thought himself to have held. That no one could open and lay in a black trash can. The image of the locket, laying amongst other trinkets. Of no value but tom be had to hold a value.

 _Kill the spare_.

'Together then?'

But together he had never been.

So alone.

No parents.

Muggles to raise him.

What use for a silly locket?

Gone.

No second life.

No _spare._

-8-

Water so much water. A stone basin full of it.

A cup.

A badger adorning the side.

A harsh light surrounding the goblet. A pale hand that was owner to a head surrounding in black chaotic hair.

No water to come to fill a goblet.

Disappearing.

The light gone.

 _Kill the spare._

Gone.

No second life.

No _spare._

-8-

A tiara. One befit a queen of the muggle world. One to befit a wizard or witch that showed their high born stature. The red vibe, the glow.

 _Kill the spare._

Where there any wizarding royalty?

No.

The muggles have no need of jewels to argue over.

No prince.

Even the straggly greasy haired aren't princes.

No head garments.

Gone.

No second life.

No _spare._

 _-8-_

 _ **Come now snakelet. Touch my mark. The one. You know that one.**_

Harry's eyes shot open. Was this him? It wasn't. Sirius? He was alive. Who was Tonks? Severus. Snape? Touch? What? He was weak. He knew the words were meant for him as much as an owl knew to spread its wings.

A hand, not as youthful as the one to touch a fang and stab was, but more youthful than any other reached out and touch upon the mark of a snake which did not belong to a snake.

Gone.

No second life.

No _spare._

-8-

Green eyes did not waver from red.

"How can it be that a son of a mudblood would hold so much power as to defeat me? I am invincible. I am Lord Voldemort."

Green eyes were temporarily covered by eyelids.

 _Kill the spare._

"Power? What power can a half blood know that a wizard as powerful and dark as I that could be used against me? I have your blood. Touch shall no longer be a problem between us my dear Harry. Lord Voldemort can now touch you."

As if to prove a point to the words that seemed to echo strangely around his head. Not like words that have ever been spoken to him before. These words seemed to speak to his very being, seemed to echo and echo.

A bony long finger reached across the small distance between Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. A finger that seemed to be able to stretch endless distances.

 _Kill the spare._

When the pale finger touched his skin, skin not much darker, Harry let out a gust of air. Then pulled that expulsed air back in.

Harry's eyes widened. With the thought that his blood was no longer once his own and held the protective properties that had saved him years ago in his first year in the wizarding world, he hadn't expected what he saw.

With his inhale he saw the hairless body of Voldemort once again flake away.

It wasn't a body.

No one should be forced to look like half a snake, Harry vaguely thought.

With each inhale, unlike the first time where it was with each second that skin contacted predatory skin. Voldemort seemed to disappear flake by flake. The only problem seemed to be that the flakes made their way into Harry's mouth, down his throat and into his lungs.

Gone.

No second life.

No _spare._


	4. Chapter 4

**Sense 8**

 _The only problem seemed to be that the flakes made their way into Harry's mouth, down his throat and into his lungs._

A decade seemed to pass.

Within that decade all Harry could sense was the changing of seasons, a flicker in the magical energy surrounding Harry.

 _Kill the spare._

-8-

Harry's life. Was it his? A familiar tug towards the opposite direction told him that it may not be so.

He never grew up around so many children of his own age. He grew up with Dudley. A giant in his own right who had fists the size of melons, fists that could hurt like bullets.

 _Kill the spare._

A trip. Harry had never had the privilege of going away from Surrey. He knew that was the place he lived. Surrey. He had never been to anywhere by the sea. The roaring of the sea waves against hard rock was enough to keep him up all night, so different than the snoring of the Dursley's.

 _Kill the spare._

 _ **Rex. I am your masters' heir. How many heirs after is not clear. Obey me.**_

A snake so large it barely fit in the room.

Demands. Kill the unworthy. Show me the secrets of the ancestor. But before the demand could be completed the first was met. A death. The near shut down of Hogwarts.

 _Kill the spare._

-8-

A dusty shop. Only recognisable by the man behind the counter. _Borgin and Burkes._

A woman. Plump. A house elf shaking in his presence. A spell. A dark vial. Poison.

 _Kill the spare._

-8-

Scrawny. Black hair. Grease so thick. 'Master. I have heard so much.'

A wand with a pale hand. 'Step aside silly girl. Move.' No movement from the red headed girl in a protective stance over a crib containing such a young body. 'Well then. So be it. Avada Kedavra.'

Pain. So much pain. Pain worse than a thousand white hot knives stabbing at him.

One world rang through his head. A curse.

Harry huffed for the final time.

Avada Kedavra.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sense 8**

Eyelids fluttered.

A thin chest rose and fell.

 _Kill the spare._

Eye lids fluttered then stayed open. Green eyes stayed visible. A body so young. A body that had suffered the killing curse more than once.

Suffered it 8 times.

-8-

Miles away, a crowd was screaming.

Four went in the maze.

Three came out.

But not a whole three.

The spare was dead.

-8-

Green eyes now under a green canopy.

Remorse.

That's all it takes.

To wake up screaming.


End file.
